


Valiant

by FaceofMer



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Torture, Violence, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/FaceofMer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Year That Never Was, Jack is forced to watch the destruction of his team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is really nothing_rhymes_with_ianto's fic. I just wrote the last two chapters and was told I could post it if I wanted. And I wanted to. Any mistakes are likely mine.

Three and a half months, or so he guessed, into his imprisonment on the Valiant, Jack was greeted by Tish’s forlorn face.

“What’s wrong, Tish, my girl?” She just shook her head. No one was allowed to speak to him. Jack had not heard any voice but the Master’s and his own since the day the Master had killed him for the first time, and he’d revived already chained in the near-dungeon conditions of the steaming boiler room.

He smiled wider at her, faking optimism and confidence, both for her benefit and to keep the guards from being suspicious. The guards were told to shoot him whenever they thought he was trying to communicate, or when he talked too much, or when he didn’t talk enough, or when he started trying to keep time, or when they were bored.

Tish kept her eyes down as she fed him the disgusting meal.  He distracted himself from the texture of the mush by concentrating on her face, trying to figure out why she looked worse, sadder than usual. As he forced the last mouthful down, Tish glanced up into his face. He tried to reassure her with a comforting grin, but as soon as she saw his smile, her eyes filled with tears and she fled from the room.

“Hey! Tish! What’s wrong? Tish!”

His mind registered the bang nearly simultaneous to the bullet sinking into his brain. Blackness came, and Jack wasn’t sure if he welcomed it or not.

When Jack revived, he was greeted by the grinning face of the Master.

“Hello, Jackie-boy!”

“What the hell do you want?” Jack groaned.

“Oh, to wipe out the Doctor’s precious human race, the Universe, whatever. Why should I tell you my plans? They’re mine. But, for right now, I’ll have to settle for killing you!”

“Oh, joy.”

“What letter are we on, Jackie-boy?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You have a strange alphabet, Jackie-boy. What letter in the English alphabet are we on?”

Jack sighed. “We’re on E.”

“Good boy! What shall we do today? Mmm, how about exsanguination? How deep do I have to cut in order to keep you from healing?”

The insane Timelord grinned, and reached into the case he brought with him. Pulling out a large, serrated knife, he smirked and brought it to Jack’s neck.

The Master was stronger than he looked; though the knife sliced across his throat with agonizing slowness, the cut was deep, and blood bubbled out like a crimson fountain.

The Master grinned, watching as the edges of the gash knit themselves back together, slowly healing. He raised the knife and dug into the healing skin to keep the wound open. Jack cried out, blood spraying outward as his severed larynx worked to bring him oxygen. His scream came out as a pitiful gurgle. Jack could feel the black fog surrounding his brain, but the agony remained. His skin was healing, trying to keep him alive and awake, but instead it only prolonged the torture.

“Hmm….” He heard the Master speculate something, then felt a stab at his thigh as the Master slashed through the femoral artery before returning to his neck to open the wound again.

Jack moaned brokenly and flexed the remaining muscles of his neck, and the fast-weakening muscles in his leg, felt the blood gush out faster, and with a rattling sigh, welcomed the darkness.

When he awoke, the Master was seated in front of him, still grinning.

“You took your time, Jackie-boy. I got quite a bit done while you were hanging there.” He leapt up and tossed the chair away. “All right, Freak,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “I have a present for you! I found it a few days ago. I’ve been saving it for you.”

Jack’s heart sank. Those words could not mean something good. The Master snapped his fingers, and smirked as he watched a pair of guards drag a prisoner, clad in grey coveralls, handcuffed and shackled, a bag over their head, to his feet. They tossed the person down to the grated floor, and Jack’s heart jumped into his throat as the prisoner cried out. He recognized Gwen’s voice. The Master smiled gleefully at his reaction and tugged the bag off of Gwen’s head. Jack closed his eyes against the sunken, beaten face of his colleague. Her hair was matted and stuck to her head, her cheeks stained with tears and covered in dirt. Her eyes were wild and pained.

“This one was an easy catch. A Toclafane got her poor little lump of a husband, and like a fool, she stayed with him.” Gwen spat at him, cursing. The Master kicked her hard in the ribs and she yelled in pain, falling to her side. “This little girl talks too much. How do you stand her, Freak? She’s so stupid. And she never shuts up. Perhaps I should remedy that.”

The Master yanked a strip of cloth out of his case, tying it around Gwen’s mouth. She gnashed her teeth, trying to bite him, but he gripped her jaw tightly enough that Jack heard the bones creak and crunch beneath his hold. He gripped a new knife in his right hand, yanking Gwen’s head back by her dirty hair, and gestured with his head for one of the guards to come over. The guard obeyed silently.

“Hold her head.” The guard did as he was told.

The Master took hold of Gwen’s lower jaw, prying her lips open, his fingers probing roughly into her mouth before clamping down on her tongue.

“No! Don’t you touch her!”

“Oh, shut up, Freak. It’s not like you can do anything to stop me.”

Jack closed his eyes, but he couldn’t block out the noise coming from Gwen’s throat, something between a growl and a scream, or the wet sounds of meat being cut. Then there was silence, except for tiny whimpers and the Master’s breathing. Jack opened his eyes. Gwen’s head hung down on her chest, blood pouring from her mouth, her tongue lying on the grated floor at the Master’s feet.

“You can let go now,” the Master said to the guard, who dropped Gwen to the floor like a rag doll and went to join his partner at the gate to the boiler room. The Master nudged Gwen with his foot until she rolled onto her back, limp, surrendered.

“All right, now leave her alone.” Jack insisted through gritted teeth.

“Do you really think I’d do that? Leave a job halfway done? Me? No, I’ll think I’ll go on.”

The Master rummaged around in his case again before pulling out a spike. He stroked Gwen’s side almost gently, counting the ribs before stopping and placing the point between the fourth and fifth ribs. He pressed down quickly, efficiently piercing her flesh and puncturing her left lung. Blood stained her already dirty shirt, spreading across her torso. Gwen cried out, blood spilling from the wound as air whistled through the hole when she took a breath.

“There,” The Master exclaimed, wiping his hands off as if he had just finished icing a particularly messy cake, “Job’s done. See you later, Freak.”

The Timelord tossed everything haphazardly back into the case, locked it, picked it up and stepped out of the cell, but not before giving Gwen a none too gentle kick in the side. She groaned and coughed, the sounds accented by an eerie whistle. Then he was gone.

“Gwen?” Jack implored the prone figure of his colleague. “Gwen, I’m so sorry.”

Her brown eyes stared up at him, glazed over with pain and lack of oxygen. She whimpered pitifully, unable now to speak or even breathe correctly. He could hear her laboured pants echoing with the shrill noise of escaping air.

Gwen lay on the floor of Jack’s boiler room cell for two days, gasping and keening in pain, her head thrashing about periodically. Jack could tell she was bleeding internally, and any blood that would have trickled onto the floor simply stayed inside, since she was on her back. She was slowly drowning in her own blood. For two days, he talked to her, telling her stories, apologizing, pleading for her to hold on, reassuring her that everything would be okay, despite the fact that they both knew it to be a lie, trying to keep her away from the haze of pain.

She simply stared at him, unseeing. He could tell that she was aware of him, that she could hear his voice and was concentrating on it, but he could also tell that she was struggling not to just let go. Every so often she would lose consciousness and he would scream at her to wake up until her eyes opened and she blinked at him forlornly, looking lost and out of focus.

He could see the moment that she lost the battle to stay out of the fog. Her eyes clouded over, unfocused, and her fingers stopped the clenching-unclenching pattern that had been unending for the past 48 hours.

“No, Gwen. Gwen, just hold on,” he pleaded, desperate for her to live. “You’re the life force of the team. You have to keep going! You saved all of us! Come on!”

Gwen groaned, cried out, tears rolling down her face, her body shaking. Her arms lifted weakly, her eyes staring off into middle distance, as if she was seeing something inside her head. Her groan turned into something almost coherent, made garbled and unintelligible by the lack of tongue. But Jack recognized the familiar inflection of the word, the keening vowel, as Gwen’s last words begged for Rhys.

When Tish came in to feed him the next day, he barely lifted his head, just opening his mouth and letting her spoon the paste in. She wanted to say she was sorry, but she wasn’t allowed to speak. She didn’t think he’d accept the comfort anyway; he wouldn’t even look at her. His eyes never left the stains of blood that could be seen on the grating.


	2. Chapter 2

Two months later, Jack hadn’t died at the hands of the Master for about a week. Apparently, the Timelord was busy. Perhaps Torchwood or even U.N.I.T. was fighting back. He didn’t know.

The Master had instead decided to go digging into the buried and locked away parts of Jack’s mind, and even the Captain’s extensive psychic training at the Time Agency couldn’t protect him from the strength of the insane Timelord.

The Master had spent days yanking memories to the surface, watching them like film, observing Jack as he squirmed and writhed in pain at the memories that hurt from regret or longing or actual physical agony.

He felt as the Master pulled up memories of his time with Rose and the first Doctor he met, and he wanted to cry, he missed them so much. He hated that Rose was gone forever, it hurt his heart that he would never see her smile again, or see a flash of pink as she ran past, or banter happily with her and the Doctor. He was sure the Master had stored those memories away to use on the Doctor later, to hurt him with memories of his love.

Jack ached as he was forced to remember Estelle, her life and death, falling in love with her and watching her age, then finding her dead. He remembered Lucia, and her descent into hatred for him. He saw again the torture and death of his best friend from Boeshane. His guilt resurfaced even stronger as he relived the moment when Gray’s hand slipped from his own. He re-watched his own horrible loneliness, stuck in Satellite 5, surrounded by corpses and Dalek dust. He remembered fallen comrades, the trauma of both World Wars, the loss of too many friends, the pain of being left alone, wanting to die, then being dragged back to life like being raked over knives and hot coals.

He remembered Owen, Gwen, Tosh, Ianto, defying him, Owen shooting him in the head as his team insisted that they were going to open the rift to get back their lost loved ones. He remembered the pain in each of their eyes. He remembered the stabbing lilt of the Doctor’s voice telling him that he was “wrong,” the Timelord’s accent curling around the vowels and consonants to make a knife sharper than any that had touched Jack’s skin.

The Master finally sat down on a bench that the guards had set beside him, smiling.

“Why are you still loyal to these people? Look at them, they all betrayed you. Your team, they killed you to bring back the people they love. The people they love more than you. They killed you, without knowing you’d come right back. And yet, you still love them. You owe them nothing, and yet you’re still faithful to them. And what about your beloved Doctor? He left you alone on a satellite full of corpses and dust. And then he called you wrong. And still you idolize him. Don’t you realize that he’s a scared creature, he’s weak and lonely, and he’ll never be anything. Just like you. You’re nothing, haven’t you realized this? Don’t you realize that no one cares about you? Not even your treasured little Doctor.”

Jack growled, yanking at his chains. The Master just smiled blandly and patted him on the head like a small dog.

“Thought you ought to have something new to think about for a while.”

With that he left the cell, the caged door clanging shut behind him.

Then he was left alone for a few days, an icy feeling of apprehension building in his chest. He was roused from the fitful daze that barely resembled sleep by the resounding clangs of boots on the grating outside. When a second hooded and shackled prisoner was shoved into his boiler room cell, cursing and shouting, he almost felt relief that the worry was over. The guards unshackled Owen’s wrists and pulled off the bag. The medic stood blinking in the orange and purple-washed light.

“Owen…” Jack whispered, amazed that he was not only alive and relatively unhurt, but also unshackled and not at all gagged.

“Jack! Shit! Have you been like this the whole time?”

It was amazing to hear another voice besides his own and the Master’s. He sighed. “Yes.”

Owen stepped up to him, tentative. He reached out as if to clear away the grease and dirt that covered the captain’s face. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

Shrinking back as far as his chains would allow, Jack shook his head. “Don’t touch me. Don’t try to get me down. They’ll shoot us both.”

“All right, all right. Fine.”

“How long have they been holding you?”

“A week, maybe? Can’t tell.”

“I know.”

“They didn’t do anything. Just stuck me in a cell all alone. They even fed me on a regular schedule. Better than when I was in India. It’s not easy to eat while you’re always running from the Toclafane.”

Owen sat down on the floor of the cell, elbows on his knees in front of Jack. The Captain looked down at him, eyes sad.

“Tell me what happened after I left. Please.”

“Well, you disappeared into fucking thin air. Gwen flipped the bloody hell out. Tosh was upset, but she got straight to work with the next rift spike. I think Ianto was really upset and shaken. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. He slept in your bunker sometimes. I think he took to wearing your shirts sometimes, but I never can tell under those damn suits….Anyway, after the election, we got a call from the PM about a small group of Ice Warriors in the Himalayas, killing people or sommat.”

“The Ice Warriors have been peaceful for centuries, at least.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t know that. Saxon, or whatever the hell his name is, set a good trail. It took us a while to figure out that we were being led on. It all went tits up after that. We got down the mountain, but everything was in ruins.”

“Then what?”

“We split off, sort of. Tosh and Ianto went off, and I was with Gwen and Rhys. We planned to meet up again, but the Toclafane came and we had to get out of there, fast. So I don’t know where either of them went. Gwen…Rhys got attacked by a Toclafane. Bled out, I guess. I don’t know. To be honest, I didn’t stick around. She stayed with him; I kept telling her we had to go, but she wouldn’t leave him. So I had to run.”

“It’s all right. You did what you had to, to survive.”

“And look what good that did.”

“Just, tell me the rest.”

“I made it to India. Had some food, had my doctor’s credentials, so I managed to pay for a ride across the country, and then they let me stay on because I was a doctor. So I got all the way to Turkey. Quite a haul. Some Polish bloke was there, had a little private plane. He flew me to Krakow, made me promise to give him painkillers for his son, who I guess lost a leg or something to the Toclafane. I don’t speak Polish, it kind of got lost in translation. I just wanted to get back to fucking Cardiff. So I started to walk. Got a couple rides. Then I got a ride with a big caravan of people. It was a few big dry cargo lorries full of people. The Toclafane attacked while we were on the road. Most people got indoors safely, but I stayed behind to take care of a couple wounded. They got me there.”

“I’m sorry Owen.”

“I am too. They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?” Jack nodded sadly, unable to look at his colleague. “Do you know how?”

The Captain shook his head dejectedly, his hair flopping limply on his forehead. “I don’t know. Saxon likes….variety.”

“I could turn into a guessing game, then. Pass the time.”

“Please don’t. I don’t want to think about it any more.”

“Did he kill you?”

“More times than I can count, Owen.”

“Shit.”

A guard slammed open the gate and dropped a bowl of food in front of Owen, who grabbed it up eagerly. The guard slammed out again. Stuffing a spoonful of the goulash-like substance in his mouth, he offered some to Jack, who shook his head.

“Can’t. They’ll shoot us. You can talk to me, but you can’t help me in any way. I don’t understand it, but that’s the way it is.”

“All right.” Owen ate half of his meal before dropping the spoon. “Ugh. Belly ache. I think I ate too fast.”

“Careful there, tiger.”

“Jesus. I’m tired. D’you think it’ll be okay if I sleep?”

“I think it’ll be all right, Owen. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Despite the useless comfort, Owen nodded, curling up on the grated floor, his hands under his head, his feet tucked in the foetal position.

For the next week and a half, Owen and Jack talked. About the team, about aliens, about Katie, about Diane, about the places Jack had been and the places Owen had been, the places they wanted to go.

Jack watched Owen get more and more lethargic, rubbing his eyes or his temples often, as if he had a splitting headache or was becoming nearsighted. Every so often, he’d complain of stomach pains after eating the goulash they fed him, wondering aloud about the condition of the meat and what the hell sort of alien substances were in that meal. Quietly, in his head, Jack denied what he saw, what he thought was happening to his employee and friend. It wasn’t until Owen woke up with a hives rash down his arm, that they finally realized the full extent of what was going on.

“Shit. Goddamit. Fuck.”

“What now, Owen?”

“I should have never accepted the goddamn food.”

“What?”

“They’re poisoning me, Jack.”

“How do you know?”

Owen stuck out his arm. “This. And I’ve been feeling tired, having headaches, and stomach pains, and blurry vision. All signs of poison.”

“All signs of hay fever, too.”

“They’ve been feeding me, Jack. What do you expect? That they’re gonna fatten me up and keep me here like a prize heifer? They were gonna kill me from the very beginning. I have a feeling the food’s been poisoned all along.”

“But what with?”

“Who knows? Thallium? Strychnine? Nightshade? Foxglove? I’ve been seeing weird coloured halos of light around objects. Pretty sure it’s foxglove, then. Used to get foxglove patients when I was a doctor in the E.R, right when I was starting out. Stupid little kids eat the plants. Anyway, whatever it is, it needs antidote that I don’t have. I may as well just ride this one out.”

“You don’t mean that, Owen.”

“No, I don’t. But I don’t see any other option, do you?” Jack hung his head. Owen sighed and crossed his arms on his knees, laying his head down on them.

A week and a half later, Owen wouldn’t eat any more. He lay on the floor near Jack, his head pillowed on his arms, groaning every so often about pain in his stomach. A guard had come in and slapped what looked like a nicotine patch onto the medic’s arm. Jack knew it was the poison.

“Owen, can I tell you something?” Jack started one day.

Owen groaned softly. “Better not be some awful heart-to-heart.”

“Oh. Well, it is.”

“Get on with it, then. I’m dying.”

Jack tried to keep his voice from shaking. “I know. That’s why.”

“Fine.”

“Owen, I just wanted to let you know how much I value you. I know you think you betrayed me, but you didn’t. You were in love. I can understand that. And you are a better doctor than you will ever know. You are more amazing than you will ever know. I have the pleasure of teaching you, of being your mentor. I want you to know how much I love you. Because you are special to me. I know you see some awful shit, and I know you’ve not had the best life—”

“I’ll say.”

“—But you keep going. There’s something inside of you that just keeps on living. And that’s a spark that I wish I had. I wish I had that in a way that wasn’t given to me. It’s not something that comes naturally the way it does with you. I want you to know that you are important, that you are loved. By me, and by the rest of the team. You’re part of us. I picked you. You’re mine, you’re my team. You belong.”

Jack could see tears in Owen’s eyes, even though the medic had turned away to hide it. They didn’t speak again for a long time. Afterwards, their conversations were casual and quiet, shorter, as Owen couldn’t handle long periods without getting tired.

“Jack.” He was out of breath now when he talked.

“Owen, what?”

“I can feel my pulse. It’s…dangerously low. I’ve never seen foxglove poisoning this far in or this severe, so I don’t know what happens next. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Owen—” Owen relaxed, stilled. But Jack could see he was still breathing shallowly, and he breathed his own sigh of relief.

Hours later, Owen stirred, rolled onto his side and reached out at nothing. “Oi, Kate, you were supposed to be up hours ago. Get up, girl. I have the day off, but you don’t. Come on, babe. Yes, love you.” He shook his head, eyes clouding, unfocused, his head lolling back on his shoulders.

He somehow managed to pull himself up onto his forearms, staring around with dazed eyes. “Where am I? Mum? Mother, did you lock me in the attic again? I didn’t fucking _do_ anything! I came home a little drunk, made a sandwich, went right to bed. I didn’t even talk to you! Oh fuck off! Get me the fuck out of here!”

Tears filled Jack’s eyes as he watched his colleague hallucinate, unable to do anything but watch him as he lost himself inside his mind, wasting away, trapped in his head, in memories.

He listened as Owen spoke to Tosh, to his father, to former surgeon friends, former drinking buddies, to Gwen, to some old college professor, to his grandfather, all somewhere inside his imagination. After a short while he tried hard to tune out the babble.

“Diane. Diane!” The yearning keen of Owen’s voice jerked Jack out of his reverie. The young doctor convulsed on the grating, reaching out to someone that only he could see. Jack closed his eyes. “Diane, please. I- I love you. I do. I don’t want you to leave. Don’t leave me alone. I’m scared. If you leave, I’ll have no one. Am I dying? Maybe if I die, I’ll see you again. Please, Diane. I want to see you. I love you so much. I think I am dying. Jack?”

Jack’s head jerked up. “Yes?” The answer barely made it past his lips.

“Jack, I’m scared. I don’t want to go. I’m not ready.”

Jack took a breath, and lied. “Yes, you are. Go meet Diane. She’s waiting for you. She loves you and she wants to see you. Go. It’s okay.”

“Thank you, Jack.” He watched Owen’s face relax, his eyes close, his mouth slacken, the breath leave his body one last time in a shuddering sigh.

Jack thrashed in his chains and screamed.

The captain was left alone with Owen’s body for three days. He felt his stomach churn every time he looked at the doctor’s still body. Despite the medic’s acerbic temperament, Jack hated that the young man hadn’t had a truly happy day in his life since his fiancée had been killed. He hated that Owen had had to die still unhappy and pleading for love. He stared at the still form and remembered the years Owen had worked for him, how well they got along despite personality differences, how protective he’d been of Owen after seeing his hopelessness at ever helping himself or anyone else. Nothing could help Owen now; he was stuck forever in that darkness that the captain was forever denied. Jack swallowed against his roiling insides. He was dehydrated and starving, there were no tears for him to cry, and a lump stuck sharply in his dry throat.

When guards came to fetch the medic’s body, Tish was with them. He could see her fighting not to retch or cry as the two guards heaved Owen’s corpse up indifferently, dragging him out with little attention to the brokenness of his body. She held a tray of mush in her hand and a bottle of water with cold condensation sliding down the side. Suddenly Jack was parched.

“Tish,” he croaked hoarsely. “Can I have some of that water?”

As usual, she was silent, but she nodded and stepped over, unscrewing the cap and pouring the cool liquid down his throat. He panted a little when she pulled away, but then she was offering him the mushy food and he took it gratefully, feeling his stomach rumble with hunger. He knew from experience that starvation was one of the shittiest ways to go, and he didn’t want to do it again.

When she departed, he hung there, grateful to be sated, no longer trembling from lack of nutrients. Only Ianto and Tosh were left, he knew. He also knew that they were the cleverest of the team, and the most difficult to catch. A tiny glimmer of hope bloomed in his chest, even as he tried to tamp it down. Perhaps Tosh and Ianto would manage to hide, and wait it out until the Doctor reversed all this and saved them? Jack slammed the door closed hard on that thought and locked it, swallowing the key, though the taste was bitter. He could not let himself think such thoughts, and then be devastated further when the Master paraded in the very team members he’d put such faith in.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later something had gone wrong on the ground. From the muffled yelling Jack could hear, he surmised that one of the missile plants had been hit by rebels and nearly taken out entirely. It would take them at least a month or two to rebuild, and the Master was taking out his fury on the poor souls that were being forced to work for him.

An hour or so after the loudest yells died down, the Master sauntered into Jack’s cell, carrying his case as usual. He opened it up, but didn’t take anything out. Instead, he folded his arms behind his back and strolled over to stand in front of Jack. The immortal man could feel the waves of fury—both physical and psychic—rolling off of the Timelord.

“You know what I’ve been doing between constructing my war and coming down here to play with you? I’ve been learning a bit more about the past of the human race up to this century. Boy, are you a worthless race. However, your methods of physical torture have to be complimented. Your species was very creative in some instances. Even the simpler punishments seem like they’d have very interesting reactions. So I think I’m going to forego that silly little alphabet game today.”

The Master walked back to his case. The Timelord had figured out not long ago that the more Jack was killed with less time and nutrients to replenish the ones he had lost, the weaker he was, and the longer it took for wounds to heal if he was not killed. He had become much more ruthless and entertained after that, watching to see how long it took before he healed, injuring Jack as deeply and badly as he could without killing him.

A moment later, he strode back, hiding whatever it was behind his back with a smile, walking slowly around Jack until he stood behind him. Jack went rigid, intensely aware of the Timelord behind him. The Master made a noise of consideration.

“You know, I was going to have them strip you, but this might be more interesting.”

Jack heard the sound of something relatively light hitting the floor, then a soft dragging sound accentuating the noises of the Master walking backwards. He had long since given up trying to figure out what the Master was going to do to him. Half the time he didn’t even want to know. He just rode it out on visions of Ianto’s blue eyes, Tosh’s small smile, Owen’s half-assed snarking and Gwen’s ability to conveniently “forget” to do anything resembling paperwork. Visions of the team, the Hub, home.

Jack felt the lancing sting before he heard the _whizz-crack_ of the bullwhip. Unprepared, he cried out sharply before clamping his lips shut, unwilling to give the Master the satisfaction of hearing him scream so early into the session. He bit down, ripping at his bottom lip as the whip flayed his back open, tearing strips of shirt and skin. Closing his eyes, he tried hard to imagine bright blue eyes and Welsh vowels, the soft caress of Ianto’s hands.

The whip slashed at him, the Master uncaring where the leather landed. Jack had chomped through his bottom lip in attempt to keep from shouting. He heard the thin whip hiss through the air, wrapping around his side to slice neatly across his pectorals. Then it carved a rough slash through his shoulder and he couldn’t hold in his screams, could barely hear the gleeful laughter of the Master over his howls. And the Master continued.

He could no longer feel his back, though he was aware that it was now nothing more than meat with ragged remains of flesh hanging off at random points. And still the insane Timelord beat at him, laughing, somehow pleased at the precise agony the whip caused Jack. The immortal wondered if the Master was going to lash him until he was nothing but ribbons. But soon the Timelord’s slashes were less frequent, and then the Master was stepping out from behind him, leather whip trailing blood behind him, a satisfied smile on his face, grinning at Jack, who was now stripped bare of all clothes and most skin, torn away by the precision slice of the whip.

“That was fun. I think I may have found my favourite thing to do on my time off. It’s the best thing I’ve found since that strange children’s television show. Now, I must be off to my duties. There’s a war to start, you know. I’ll be back, Jackie-boy.” And he sauntered away with his case, the sound of his footsteps and the expression on his face the closest thing to happiness you could describe upon a psychotic murderer.

Jack groaned in his chains, instantly regretting it as the vibration sent pain rippling throughout his entire body. He tried to hold as still has he could. He was too unhealthy, not enough time to heal between deaths, and not enough nutrients. Healing from this would take a long time if he didn’t die.

A little less than half a month after that first experience, the Master was getting frustrated. Jack had been chained on the Valiant for six months, and the Master had not yet found the rest of his team or the rebels that had destroyed the missile plant. Not only that, but plans down on Earth seemed to be going behind schedule, and the Master was constantly stomping around the ship, yelling and growling and screaming at anyone who dared to talk to him. His broadcasts down to Earth were more terrifying and raging than they had been before. There was an intense anger boiling inside the Master, a fury that was only heightened by the constant drumming in his head. So Jack became, quite literally, his whipping boy.

Whenever something went wrong, or when he was bored, or when the drumming got too loud, the Master would arrive at the gate to Jack’s cell, case in hand. Sometimes he have the guards strip Jack, so he could watch clearly as the immortal’s body ripped apart, blood vessels bursting and skin splitting open. Other days he would leave Jack’s clothes on and enjoy tearing them from his body, cutting cloth and skin to ribbons without discrimination, letting the strips fall to the floor like cuttings from a tailor’s work. He would flay Jack open; front, back, sides, it didn’t matter. The Master revelled in the sound of the whip, the stinging crack, the moment when Jack’s strength waned and he screamed out his pain.

The loud snap of leather breaking the sound barrier, the screams that tore from Jack’s throat, seemed to temporarily eclipse the beat in the Master’s head, or the impatient anger he felt when things went awry. Jack’s pain, his torn skin and agonized cries, his breaking heart and weary mind only made the Master even more satisfied. Destroying something so intrinsically _wrong_ to a Timelord seemed to give the Master a comfort and pleasure nothing else could. The insane Timelord always walked away from those sessions with a jaunty step, either leaving Jack moaning in his chains, or killing him and leaving him there to revive alone.

Jack endured the cruel touch of the whip. His physical pain was better than seeing either remaining member of his team. The constant flogging was a reassurance that Tosh and Ianto remained free and unfound.

He thought continuously of Ianto, imagining the blue eyes and small smile, the way some of the world-weary pain seemed to clear from Ianto’s face when they were alone together. But every so often, he would be fantasizing about his young lover, when he would suddenly feel a sharp, black intrusion into his mind. The Master seemed to know somehow, and always picked those moments of daydreaming to poke into Jack’s mind and find out just what Ianto meant to the Captain. Jack would shove the Master out, slamming up his mental shields, but never in time to hide everything.

And the days went on. Jack wondered where Martha was, how the Doctor was, what was going on outside of his little cell. He rarely saw anyone except the Master, Tish, and the guards outside who sometimes shot him for entertainment. No one spoke to him but the Master, though the voices of his deceased team members echoed in his head. Often, he felt like he was going mad, and thought he heard them speaking to him when there was no one there. He would sometimes talk back, have full conversations with the imaginary visages of his squad. Sometimes he’d just listen to their voices, revel in the sounds, and hope for a way out.

He hung there, the slow hiss of steam driving him mad, the tickling tingle of sweat as it trickled down his skin, taking with it rivulets of grime and grit. He was beginning to have moments of strange muddled awareness. He could feel reality warping in his head, skewed so that he could no longer tell exactly what was real and what was not, and though he had a feeling, he didn’t know if he could trust it.

“Jack?”

He opened his eyes. Everything around him was blurry, and he was seeing double. The blurry person in front of him was echoed in his vision. It looked familiar but unthreatening and he squinted, trying to see who it was.

“Jack, it’s me.”

“E-Estelle?”

“Yes, my dear. I wanted you to know how much I love you, and that you just need to hang in there.”

Jack shook his head muzzily. “You’re dead.”

“Do you really think that stops me? You remember the way I was, Jack. I’m too stubborn for the afterlife.”

“There is no afterlife. I’m crazy. I’m imagining you.”

Estelle nodded in agreement. Then she shrugged. “It’s still better than what you’ve got yourself into right now.”

“Please go away,” Jack pleaded with the vision of his former love. “Please. It hurts. I can’t bear to think. Please go away.”

Estelle smiled her wise and comforting grin, blinking at him with quiet understanding. “Okay, my Jack. But remember that I love you. You’ll be okay. You always are.” Then she vanished.

Tish entered to find him staring vacantly into space. He didn’t react when she called to him for food, nor opened his mouth when she waved the spoon in front of him. She frowned worriedly and left.

Everything was slip-sliding away from him. A convoluted dream wavered in front of his eyes, blurry and shaking; the Doctor—his Doctor, the one with the big ears and the leather jacket and the brilliant grin— and soldiers from the section he had commanded paraded in front of him, doing drills. Alice and Emily sneered at him, knives in their hands, before Alice’s face blurred and swam and became the Master’s. A raccoon-eyed Idris accused him of betrayal, of using him, of loving only himself and never others. He swam back into semi-awareness, realizing suddenly that he was actually awake. For a little while his head was nearly clear, and his cell was silent but for the hiss of steam and the maddening dripping of water.

Tish hadn’t come back for a while, and his belly was far past rumbling and into sharp pains as it used itself up. There was no way for Jack to measure time except for the beating of his own heart, and even that wasn’t reliable when and if he died. He’d had no human contact, physical or verbal, in weeks. Lack of food and water and sleep and so many other important things made the world around him waver and slip.

“You know I always wondered why you were so strange,” Harriet commented to him. She was dressed in modern UNIT uniform instead of the dull-coloured dress and pearls he knew her in. A scar was still half-healed on her neck. “Now I know. You’re wrong, Jack. Like he said. Did you know, the Rift didn’t act up as much when you were away for the war? It liked that you were gone. It’s as if you anger it, or make it nervous. I think the Universe would have been better off if you didn’t exist.”

She took off her red cap, blonde hair slipping down to sweep over her shoulders. It brushed against the scar and she twitched. Then the scar opened up, wrenching her head sideways at an impossible angle, her face going slack, mouth wide. Bilis clawed his way out of her body until she was a crumpled, misshapen heap on the floor and he was standing over Jack, taller and eerier than he’d been ever before.

“Hello, Captain Jack Harkness.” Bilis hissed smoothly, and Jack was reminded of a snake.

“Go away.”

“You’re trapped here, Captain. In a time between times. And you’re forever.”

“I know. I realized that a while ago. The Doctor confirmed it.”

“The Doctor. Ooh, the Doctor. He can’t stand you, Captain. Just being near you causes him pain. Just thinking about you makes him disgusted. He won’t love you the way you want him to. Especially now that his precious flower is unreachable. She was the only reason he ever took you on. And now she’s gone, and he has no use for you anymore, except as a first line because, as we’ve now established, you can’t ever die.”

“I die. I just don’t stay dead.” Jack responded petulantly.

“Of course,” Bilis’s voice was quietly patronizing. “But you’re useless for anything else but death. Dying, killing, whatever he needs that has to do with death. But nothing else. You’ll never be allowed to stay.”

“ _Fuck_ you.” Jack spat.

Bilis cocked his head and his lips turned up in a reptilian smile. “I’m right, of course. You know I’m right.”

“Go away.”

“As you wish, Captain.” A deep bow, and he was gone.

The sound of a ticking clock was all that was left of Bilis. Even Harriet’s ruined corpse had vanished.

For the next few weeks, Jack screamed and cried and talked and pleaded and thrashed in his chains. Memories and dreams and strange combinations of memories and hallucinations assaulted him, twisting his mind until he could no longer think without crying out in pain or fear or anger. He was skeletal from lack of food and water. He hung from his chains like a man who had given up. He did not look at anyone; they could not see his sunken eyes. He was alone with his crumbling mind and twisted visions.


	4. Chapter 4

“Jack?” Jack opened his eyes slowly. The world was blurred. He blinked and it slid into focus. “Jack? It’s Tish.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jack slurred. “You’re not real.”

“Jack, look. I have food for you. It’s just—just the usual stuff. Jack, wake up. He’s only letting me speak to you until you wake up.”

The smell of food seemed strangely real and Jack found his stomach to be gnawing painfully at his insides, the sensation scraping all the way up his throat. A glance at Tish told him that she was not wavering, and her breath across his face felt real. He blinked at her and opened his mouth obediently. The taste of the swede, though bland, was wonderful, and he nearly choked on the texture as his body begged for the fuel it knew was coming. He ate the slop so fast it felt like his belly was going to burst. Tish gave him a shy smile and left.

After that, the routine was intermittent. Usually he got one meal a day, just enough to pull him back from the skeleton he had been. Barely enough. Sometimes Tish wouldn’t come, and Jack would fall into a sort of mad frenzy, working himself into hysteria as he wondered what had happened, when he’d get his next meal, whether the horrible visions would start up again. Then the routine would settle out again for a time.

Jack knew it was all part of the Master’s plan, the torture, the breakage. But he couldn’t do anything to stop it, and couldn’t prevent his irrational reactions.

 In the middle of a meal, an enraged yelp pulled Jack’s attention away from the mush in Tish’s spoon. He looked up to see a bound Toshiko being shoved inside his cell. The guards jerked their heads at Tish to get out, and the young woman did so quickly. One guard raised his gun, and the last thing Jack heard was Tosh’s frightened cry before he was dead once more.

He revived with a groan. He’d died so many times, and he was so weak from lack of nutrients and rest that it took him much longer than usual to come back, and it hurt so much more.

He looked round his cell, wondering where Toshiko was. She was there, to his right. Her tiny body was strapped to a chair, her movements restricted. A computer was sat in front of her, her hands restrained in front of it, on the keyboard. He could see an earpiece in her ear. She was typing rapidly, her eyes fixed on the screen.

But that wasn’t what frightened him. A strange contraption resembling a drill was poised above her head. He called out to her, but she did not respond. He was unsurprised when the Master stepped into his cell moments later.

“She won’t respond. She will respond only to the voice commanding her. If she responds to anything else, she and all the humans on board will be killed.”

“What is that thing?” Jack asked, although he was sure he didn’t want to know.

“Oh, this?” The Master pointed to the drill thing. “This is a punishment I’m testing out. If all goes well, I will be using it on any rebel computer technician we capture. She can’t feel it, of course, but she can feel the effects.”

“The effects of what?”

“Come on, Jackie-boy. Keep up. The drill, of course. It’s going to drill into her brain. It will slowly take away her ability to think, to control her own body, to move, and finally, to stay alive.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” It was useless to ask these questions, but Jack was overwhelmed.

“Well, I need someone to test on, and she seemed like a very capable candidate. She avoided capture for nine long months. And the whole time, she was defying me, plotting against me, using her skills to help the rebels. Now she can help me and the Toclafane. And she is an intelligent one. She was the only one who knew exactly what she was doing. All the others took their direction from her, but now that she’s gone, well…I think those other rebels will be much easier to catch, don’t you?”

The Master grinned and sauntered away, leaving Jack to howl and yank at his chains.

Jack watched for a whole day as the drill slowly moved closer to Tosh’s skull; the soft whirring sound it made was maddening. He knew the Master had positioned it that far away just so Jack would get to see exactly how painstakingly slow the torture would be.

The Captain already felt exhausted by the terror and apprehension as he watched the drill inch closer, it had been nearly a day and a half and now it was just centimetres from Tosh’s head. He winced as the drill’s whirring became louder, and a sharp buzz furthered the cacophony as the tool finally touched something solid and began its descent inward. Jack added his own sorrowful moans and cries for cessation of the noise, but he knew no one would listen to him.

Tosh could not feel the machine boring a hole into her head, and continued typing, her eyes glued to the screen, unable to look away.

The Master had informed him via a loudspeaker that Tosh had also been injected with an alien drug that slowed the blood flow and made it difficult for a person to bleed. He said it wouldn’t leave her system unless she had a full blood replacement.

It wasn’t until the third day that Jack noticed any changes, other than the blood slowly but steadily seeping from the wound. Her eyelids fluttered minutely, heavy and low. She typed slowly, so much slower than the Tosh he knew back at the Hub, whose fingers flew over the keys in an excited blur. Her face was slack—not like a person under alien influence; like someone who could no longer feel or control their own muscles. Jack closed his eyes and breathed. Then he began to speak, knowing Tosh might not be able to comprehend him later.

“Listen to me, Toshiko. Torchwood couldn’t have survived without you. Hell, I couldn’t have survived without you, and I can’t die. You are so important, Tosh. You are valuable to the team, valuable to the world. They may not know it outright, but they feel it every time they take a breath of air, every time their heart beats. You’ve saved so many lives, Toshiko, and for that I love you. You are important. And you are so beautiful. You’ve never betrayed me, not once, even if you thought you did. They were never betrayals, because I know where your loyalty lies. And I know that you are a good person, I know you want to help. You are so kind. You see all these horrible things and yet, you still go on being you. You’re still the wonderful genius I first met, still the brilliant woman I always knew you were.”

Tosh blinked slowly, her fingers still moving, the whine of the drill underscoring every movement, every one of Jack’s words. Jack bit back a plea to the Master and nodded. He knew that at the moment, Tosh could hear him. He knew she’d be all right in death. He settled back in his chains and began to ramble, just making her listen to his voice to comfort her. Like Gwen, he spoke adventures to her, chatted about incredible bits of technology he’d experienced in his travels or at Torchwood, told her of the beauty that he knew existed out in space.

On the fifth day, he noticed tears in Tosh’s eyes. She couldn’t feel anything, so he knew they weren’t there from pain. He could see in her expression a realization and tired resignation. She had realised on some new level that she was going to lose herself before she lost her life. He watched her take a deep breath and set her jaw. She never spoke and never looked at him.

The seventh day was when Tosh began to twitch. Her movements were sluggish now, her hands limp at her wrists, her fingers stiff and unwieldy, flicking clumsily between fast and slow, rarely hitting the right keys. Her head would have been slumped on her chest if it hadn’t been impaled on the drill. Her eyes were half-closed, her jaw slack and drooling. Every so often her body gave a strange little jerk, as if some reflex had been knocked.

Toshiko’s mind had been her best asset, her key to saving the world, and Jack was watching it slowly break down. He watched the comprehension fade from her eyes. He watched her slide from a beautiful human being with a brilliant mind, to an empty shell. He watched Toshiko die before she died, and it made him weep to know that there was nothing left of her.

When Tosh’s typing finally did still, when the blood no longer slid down her back in a sluggish red waterfall, when the drill’s high pitched whine slowed to a grating purr and then to a stop, Jack could look back at the Master with defiance. He knew Toshiko had been long gone before her physical death, and that was something he could be happy about. He knew her torture was meant for him, but he took comfort in the fact that she never got to experience the worst part of it, because the Toshiko he knew had already vanished.

Jack watched as Toshiko’s body was taken away along with the machinery. The Master stood back and watched him like a scientist examining a bug under a microscope. He made a few notes and went away again. Soon after, the Master resumed his experiments in ways to kill Jack, this time testing out a few medieval torture devices he’d found God knew where.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack should have known something bad was about to happen. Tish had been feeding him more again. Alone with his thoughts he found himself wondering about Ianto. But again, there was the Master’s presence and he tried harder to keep those thoughts locked away tight. The Master had taken to trying knife play on him, sometimes doodling for hours or simply letting Jack bleed to death.

He woke with a start and realized there was breathing here beyond the guards and his own breath. Afraid, he opened his eyes and met Ianto’s, looking up at him. The younger man was chained to the floor on his knees. Jack could see there was a long scar on his face now, and a hardness in his eyes, even as he studied his Captain. “Ianto…” The words escaped his mouth before he could catch them, earning a bullet from the guards.

The Master danced into the room as Jack woke again. “Oh isn’t this a lovely reunion,” he gave his mad grin. Ianto refused to look at him, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “You’ve got quite the little soldier here, Jackie. He’s been a busy boy. Do you want to know how many he’s killed?”

Jack struggled not to rise to the bait. The Master turned his attention to Ianto. “You’re the last one left, you know. Jack’s pretty little toy. How did you like that? Ran off as soon as his Doctor appeared.”

Jack saw the flicker in Ianto’s eyes , but he kept his silence, for the moment. The mad Timelord clucked his tongue. “Well, this won’t do at all.” He turned to one of the guards and Jack’s eyes went wide at the sight of the whip. “Oh, I see the Captain here remembers this well. Though I have been rather remiss on using it, of late.” He caressed the leather for a moment then gave a cruel smile. “A choice then, hmm? What do you say, either I use it, or you.”

“You bastard,” spat Jack.

The Master shrugged and uncoiled the whip. Ianto’s clothes were already ragged, a simple tug ripped the back, exposing his fair skin. He took a step back, judging. “You going to stand there staring all day?” asked Ianto, glancing back over his shoulder.

The Master raised the whip. Jack’s breath was already ragged. “No.” He looked at Ianto, eyes begging forgiveness. “I’ll do it.”

A chuckle and the Master nodded at a guard, who quickly unchained Jack. Herubbed his wrists, a little unsteady still. Ianto looked up and gave him a tiny nod. Jack swallowed and made his way to where the Master was standing. He took the whip from him and felt its weight in his hand. Ianto was looking at where he ~~~~had been a moment before and Jack found himself wondering if he’d noticed the blood stains. He quickly drew his mind back to the matter at hand and raised the whip. Ianto gave a small cry as it cut his skin.  Jack took a breath and brought it down again, watching as a long bloody slash opened up along Ianto’s back. Ianto shuddered and Jack could see him fighting against the pain. He struck again and Ianto cried out while Jack paused, watching the blood run down his back. Jack had tears in his eyes and stopped, panting. All he wanted to do was take Ianto in his arms and tell him he was sorry,, but the Master shook his head. ~~  
~~

“No, no, Jackie my boy. I know you know how to do this properly.” He walked around to the other side of Ianto and cupped his cheek. “Did you know he was court marshaled once for whipping another soldier to death?” Ianto’s eyes darted back to Jack.

“He got four of my guys killed,” growled Jack. “And I was younger then.”

“Still, you’ve got plenty of experience in torture. I’ve seen it, remember.” He crouched down to face Ianto. “Hit him again, Jack. Or I will.”

Jack raised the whip with a trembling hand, saw Ianto brace himself for the impact and brought it down again. Ianto screamed as he struck softer flesh, tearing skin and cutting deep. Jack tried to block everything out as he brought it down again, tearing meat nearly to bone and another scream as Ianto tried to jerk away, but there was nowhere to go. From his place in front of Ianto, the Master smiled and touched the tears on Ianto’s cheeks. “See how much he loves you,” he said sarcastically. sSomething snapped inside Jack.  The whip came down but this time it struck the Master, sending the Timelord sprawling back onto the floor. Jack dropped the whip just before the bullet sent him into unconsciousness.

When Jack woke again he was back in the chains. Ianto was still chained in front of him, but Jack could imagine the marks he’d left. “I’m sorry, Ianto,” he said quietly, expecting to die again for his words. But apparently the guards were allowing them to talk.

Ianto shook his head. “It was almost worth it for the look on his face.” He cracked the tiniest smile.

Jack met his eyes, seeing the pain. “He’s going to kill you,” he said softly. “He…”

“Hush, Sir,” said Ianto, and Jack was surprised by his tone. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Jack cracked a smile of his own. “I bet you gave them hell, down there.”

“Not just me. And Martha is still free.”

For the first time in a very long time, Jack felt something like hope. Of course, that was the moment the Mad Timelord appeared again. “How touching.” He clasped his hands together. “But we aren’t anywhere near finished here. Now, are you ready to deliver a proper whipping or shall we play another game?”

Jack started to make a rude gesture as he opened his mouth, some of his old spirit back. The master tisked. “Now, now, if you can’t say anything nice…” He suddenly plunged a knife into Jack’s stomach and drew it upwards.  “No!” Ianto jerked on his chains as Jack gasped in pain. The Master withdrew the knife and looked at Ianto.

“I’ll kill you,” promised Ianto.

“Not hardly. I already killed your friends. Killing this freak has been an interesting exercise in and of itself.” He glanced at Jack who was lost in his own pain at the moment, fighting to stay conscious. “Stay with us there, you need to see your toy.” Jack’s face was all anger and rage.

The Master turned back to Ianto. “Right hand or left?”

“I am not playing your games.”

“Ohh, I can see why he likes your voice. Lovely vowels.” The Master punched Jack, wringing a scream of pain from him. Ianto winced. “Right hand or left?”

Ianto looked up at Jack. Jack’s eyes were begging him not to say anything, even as his guts threatened to land on the floor. “Right,” said Ianto, softly.

The Master nodded at a guard who stepped up to hold Ianto in place while he flipped his knife in his hands. He made short work of the rest of Ianto’s shirt, then began to carve on his chest. Ianto whimpered in pain as Jack twisted in his chains until death claimed him again.

He gasped awake this time, looking down at Ianto. Ianto was looking at the floor, but he took a breath and looked back up at Jack, meeting his eyes. Jack could see the word the Master had carved. He started to open his mouth, but Ianto shook his head at him. The silence stretched between them and Jack thought he felt his heart break a little more with each beat.

Tish stepped into the room and Jack was suddenly aware that he hadn’t eaten in a while. She stepped to him and put the spoon to his mouth. He took one spoonful and gestured with his head at Ianto. She shook her head. He started to refuse the next mouthful, but saw the fear on Tish’s face. If he didn’t eat, she would get it. Jack wanted to rage; ~~,~~ instead he took each spoonful, wondering about the last time Ianto had gotten to eat. When he finished she vanished again.

Ianto had watched the whole thing. “So he doesn’t let you talk.” A guard pointed his gun at Jack. Ianto turned his head. “I think maybe I’m allowed to talk, but you aren’t.” The guard didn’t give a response, so Ianto turned his head back to Jack. “Whatever happens, I’ve already forgiven you.”

Jack teared up, wanting to say so much, but then the Master was coming into the room again. “Feeling better, freak? How do you like my handiwork?” He put a hand on Ianto’s chest, causing a hiss of pain. He took the whip out again. “Not this time, Jackie. You had your chance. I think I better remind you how to do it.” He adjusted it in his hands and brought it down, ripping a cry of pain from Ianto as the end curled around to strike his ribs. Jack cursed and struggled against the chains as the whip landed again and again. Ianto fell to hands and knees, sobbing as the Master paused.

“Damnit hit me,” begged Jack, unable to take his eyes off the damage the Master had done. He was crying himself. “Hit me, you bastard.” The whip cracked one more time, landing on Ianto. Ianto screamed and Jack yanked hard enough to get one hand free. The guards guns came up immediately.

“Now, now, “ the Master started curling his whip up again. “You had your chance to do this properly.” Jack tugged at the other chain, wanting nothing more than to get his hands around the Mad Timelords throat. The Master grabbed a raw shoulder and pulled Ianto up. “You know he will die. Just remember why.” His other hand traced the word on Ianto’s chest. Ianto met Jack’s eyes again and he threw his head back, trying to hit the Master.

The Master easily avoided it and kicked Ianto, earning another scream of pain. “He is a feisty one. I bet he’s fun in bed.” Jack stood with murder in his eyes. “Do you really think you can save him? You couldn’t save any of the others. You couldn’t save anyone. Not your team, not your precious Doctor…not even your own brother.”

Jack took a step towards him but was stopped by his bound wrist. He looked down at Ianto. His eyes were hazed with pain. “You can stop this,” cooed the Master. He nodded to one of the guards. “He’s going to die one way or the other.”

The guard held Jack’s gun. The Master took it and slid one bullet into the chamber, spinning it. “Probably not the first time you’ve played this particular game, though you do have an unfair advantage. He grabbed Ianto’s hair and pulled him up to face Jack. “Shoot me and every member of Martha’s family will die very slowly. I’m a Timelord, remember. I don’t stay dead either but at least I have decency to do it properly.” He put the gun in Jack’s hand. “Here’s your chance. Put him out of his misery.”

Jack searched Ianto’s eyes. There was no fear there, simply trust. Jack took a breath and steadied his hand. “Ianto you never betrayed us,” he said softly and pulled the trigger. Click. “You were what kept us together, doing all those little things that needed doing.” Another click. Jack squeezed his eyes shut a minute and he heard the Master starting to grow impatient. “I love you.” The sound of the gun was nearly deafening in the small space. Ianto looked surprised for a moment, then a faint smile crossed his lips as he met Jack’s eyes one final time. Jack stared as the Master lay Ianto onto his back and stood, taking the gun from him before chaining him up again.

The Master left him there, staring at Ianto’s body, staring at his own name carved into the younger man’s chest. For a long time Jack couldn’t close his eyes, and when he did, the afterimage was burned into his mind. A long time later the guards dragged the body away. He wanted to yell at them, but there was no strength left in his bones. The Master gave a satisfied smile and left him with his thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

Then began the isolation. Even the guards were moved farther away, leaving Jack totally alone. He was silent for a long time and then he raged, screaming at the empty air as if that would conjure the object of his hatred. Eventually he was still again, throat raw and heart empty. He was alone. Everywhere he looked from where he stood was another reminder. That was where Gwen had died. Owen. Toshiko. Ianto, on his knees, trusting him. Why the hell had they trusted him? The Master was right, he’d abandoned them to chase after his Doctor. The Doctor that had called him wrong, that had treated him nearly as much like a freak as the Master had. But wasn’t he a freak? What good did not dying do when everyone else died. His mind spun around those he’d lost, not just the recent ones, but so many wars and battles. A train car and the sound of wings and fifteen dead men. Useless, useless. And suicide wouldn’t stick, he knew that from experience. He stared down at the spot where Ianto had died. “Why did you trust me?” he whispered. “It wasn’t the first time I’d pointed my gun at you. Why did any of you trust me? You shouldn’t have, you never ever should have.” He closed his eyes and the accusing memories crowded in. In his mind’s eye he stood like a man to judgment, only his sentence wasn’t death, it was eternal purgatory.

Eventually he died again. Of thirst this time. He woke only to perish again fairly quickly. The next time he woke there was an IV in his arm, but no other sign of people. He would have ripped it out, but there was no strength even if he could reach it. He stared into space, just waiting. Not something he’d ever been terribly good at, but things were different now.

Tish was the first person he saw again. He’d lost track of time, but accepted the food, watching her. She gave him a nod and Jack knew he wasn’t really alone. The Doctor was still alive somewhere on the Valiant. Martha still walked the Earth. The persistence of hope clung to his heart. He gave her a smile. Not long after they installed a monitor so he could see one of the Master’s speeches. When it wasn’t showing the Master it showed time. Jack found comfort there, knowing he could see just how much time had passed.

When everything came crashing down for the Master, Jack did his soldier’s duty. He obeyed the Doctor’s orders to leave him alive. He watched the Master dying and took the gun from Lucy’s hand while the Doctor grieved. He felt detached, no longer the man who had clung to the Tardis. He helped the Doctor dismantle the paradox machine, felt the Tardis make peace with him under his hands. The work kept him busy and the Doctor seemed too wrapped up in his own grief to pay any mind to what Jack was feeling. Jack thought he should be angry, but there was no anger left. So he acted like nothing had happened, cracking jokes and flashing his smile.  


The Doctor took them into the vortex so Martha could tend to her family. She came to Jack, offered to look him over as well, but he’d just laughed (trying to hide the bitterness) and told her of course he was fine, see to her parents and sister. The Doctor vanished somewhere, so Jack lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The Tardis at least tried to give him something to look at and painted his ceiling as if he were looking up into a forest sky. He tried to tell himself that none of that had happened, that everyone was alive and well back in Cardiff. But Jack knew he was lying to himself. Tish tried to talk to him on one of his trips to the galley for some food, but he gave her the charm and the smile and assured her he was just fine.

Out of a need to do something, he picked up his gun and started to clean it. He knew the gun remembered, because that last casing had never been ejected. He took it out and stared at it. This was what was left of the bullet that had killed Ianto Jones. The bullet he had fired. He swallowed and held it in his hand, before slipping it into his pocket. It was time to go home, at least for him.

Then he was back on the plass. He heard the Doctor’s offer and managed not to laugh. “I kept thinking about that team of mine.” A salute and he didn’t look back as the Tardis vworped away. Looking around for a long moment, he stepped onto the invisible lift.

. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the emptiness. Everyone had left, and in a hurry, looked like. He saw Toshiko’s screen and nodded, half to himself, taking note of the date. Not that much time after all, but enough. He saw that the truck was moving, chasing something, no doubt. He briefly considered staying there, just sitting in his office when they got back, but all that was there was a stack of paperwork and Gwen’s coffee cup. He touched it, remembering Gwen and Ianto, remembering all of them.

Jack slipped down into his room. Everything had been kept tidy and he noticed a couple of shirts missing. Probably Ianto if what Owen had said was true. He loaded his revolver and headed back up, stopping by everyone’s desks, letting himself remember. They were all alive. None of it had happened. Another look at the screen told him where they were. He headed up and out, wondering if they’d forgive him, or if he could forgive himself.


End file.
